


Revel in Victory

by allyarra



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon!Allison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyarra/pseuds/allyarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways that the aftermath of Allison's possession by a demon didn't happen and one way that it did. No explicit pairings in this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revel in Victory

****I.  
** **

In the aftermath it takes a long moment before any of them realize that Allison isn’t moving. They’re so happy and relieved that they’ve won, that they’ve gotten the demon out of her that they don’t take in the fact that she hasn’t moved from the spot on the ground where she fell when the demon was purged, screaming in agony, from her body. The demon had been pulled out slowly, its screams merged with Allison’s until the last of it was out and it had dissipated into nothingness while Allison’s screams had slowly stopped harmonizing with it, had slowly become her own. Then abruptly the demon had been gone and her screams had just stopped and she fell to the floor.

Scott’s the first to notice that something’s wrong but it takes a few long seconds in which their relief and elation had filled them, only to be undercut by sudden tension and grief. Allison is laying on the cold concrete floor of the warehouse, her hair spread out around her like a halo and her eyes are closed, long eyelashes just kissing her cheeks. Lydia joins Scott at her side, tears already starting to gather in her eyes.

She scrambles to try and find some sign of life, a pulse, the slight rise and fall that signals breath while the rest of them look on, numb and unable to process that their victory had not been so complete as they’d thought. Finally Stiles pulls her back, away from her frantic search, away from Allison’s corpse, and draws her into an embrace, holding her steady while she screams and cries, beating at his chest with her small fists. Scott is making keening noises and has pulled Allison into his arms and is rocking back and forth. No one is quite sure whether it’s meant to soothe her or himself.

Slowly the other wolves leave, filtering out of the warehouse. They don’t have a place there, not in this time of grief. Allison wasn’t a part of their pack, had never been a part of their pack, but she’d been a member of theirs. Allison had been the link that brought in Lydia and Scott’s first love and Stiles’ other best friend. She’d been theirs and they’d let her be taken from them, hadn’t even noticed at first. A demon might have caused her death but they were the ones at fault for not protecting her all while she’d done her best to protect them from the thing inside of her.

  
II.

It’s like waking up from a dream, Allison thinks, as the demon just decides to vacate her. She’s disoriented, not quite sure which direction is up and there’s this terrible smell, like sulfur and blood mixed together. Wherever she is right now is too dark for her to even begin to make sense of it and so she waits for her head to clear, for the dizziness to leave, and then she climbs to her feet and carefully begins to search for a light source or a means of getting out of whatever hell hole she’s in.

Her entire body is covered in something sticky and some of it’s dried enough to become itchy but she doesn’t want to try and brush it off, not until she can see what it is. Then, on her quest for light, she stumbles over something soft and squishy and hears something squelch beneath her shoes and she feels nauseated by just the sound of it, but it’s that stumbling that gets her to the wall where she finds the light switch. Relief fills her, at least she’ll be able to see again, and she hits the switch.

Bright light flares up and she catches a glimpse of a small room before she’s squeezing her eyes shut in pain, hands thrown up to protect them from the harsh light. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes adjust and while they do she stands stock still, breathing in the rancid smell until she almost doesn’t notice it by the time her eyes do adjust. She opens them and wishes she could go back to the darkness, even back to the dream that the demon had held her in, anything would be better than this.

The thing she’d tripped over was Erica’s upper half, the squelching noise has been when Allison had stepped on her spilled intestines, she can see her own footprint in the bloody mess. Blood paints the room, as if it was some set for one of the cheesy horror movies that Scott and Stiles loved to make her watch, loved to watch her turn green at all of the gore and oh god that’s Stiles’ body on the ground, glassy eyes still open and staring blankly ahead.

Derek is by the door that’s all the way on the other side of the room and she can only tell it’s him by the leather jacket and the dark hair. She thinks the miscellaneous body pieces in the corner belong to Isaac and definitely Boyd, the dark of his skin mixed with Isaac’s to create a macabre pattern. She doesn’t see Scott anywhere and her mind clings to that fragile hope, to the possibility that she didn’t kill all of them and then she sees the head hanging from the ceiling, still swinging.

She screams and screams and she doesn’t remember stopping.

****III.  
** **

They spend the day after their graduation in the hospital. It’s kind of a thing for them at this point, to go to the hospital when something big happens. Sometimes the mood is somber, sometimes it’s happy, sometimes it’s desperate, but it’s never celebratory. Lydia once said that the only thing they’ll ever celebrate again is if one day Allison opens her eyes and she’s actually there, with them. It hasn’t happened yet, not in more than a year since the was exorcised and left her an empty shell, but that small flicker of hope is still there. Somehow it never quite goes out, no matter how many times Allison stares blankly at them, unresponsive to the whole world.

****IV.  
** **

This was the last thing they’d expected to happen when they’d been called to the hospital, the last thing they’d ever wanted to find. Chris is too numb to do anything except stare at his daughter, his baby girl, laying on a cold exam table in a morgue. On the tables around her are the cold, dead bodies of her friends, lips blue in death. He chokes on his tears as he reaches out to stroke her hair, pushing it off of her forehead as he’d done when she was a little girl and refused to go to bed unless her daddy read her a story.

He can hear Melissa McCall and Sheriff Stilinski crying, holding each other, as they stand over the dead bodies of their own children. Lydia Martin’s parents are standing on opposite sides of her, both distraught and holding hands, the tragic death of their daughter the only thing that could bring them together like this. His mouth opens but the words fail him. There’s nothing that can be said in this situation, no magical words that will make it better again. Their children are dead and they weren’t there to protect them.

****V.  
** **

When Allison first opens her eyes and they’re finally hers again she lets out a small sob from pure relief and joy, unable to express all of the emotions coursing through her at that moment. For the first time in weeks she relaxes her guard, she can finally stop fighting, and that’s when awareness of the situation hits.

All around her the pack are nursing various wounds that are quickly healing but are no less painful for it. She feels the prick of guilt at that but she pushes it away, refusing to feel guilty for something she hadn’t done even if her own body had delivered the damage. A quick survey of the group tells her that only minor injuries have been incurred and the relief is bone deep, at least she hasn’t damaged the pack irreparably. That’s when she realizes that Scott isn’t hunched over in pain, that his body had hid another from her view.

Horror creeps up on her, clenching her heart tightly and she takes a few unsteady steps before she starts running, flying to Scott’s side. Stiles lies on his back, eyes closed and he would like he’s sleeping except for the fact that there’s a dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth and an entire pool of it on his chest, his chest that’s actually concaved. A noise, high and distressed, escapes her and she almost reaches out to touch him and then stops herself. She doesn’t have the right.

She looks around and does a quick head count, this time making sure it’s accurate. “Where’s Lydia?” she asks, heart clenched even tighter. “Where is she?” The words are desperate, even to her own ears, and she wants to shake Scott, demand he answer her, but it’s like he’s not even there, lost along with his best friend.

The rest of the pack is still healing, still pulling themselves together to be able to look for Lydia. Then she spots the fiery hair and she gets up and runs to her best friend’s side and that’s when the tears start.

Lydia’s dead, dead, dead. A pretty little doll with blood painting her face and a hole punched through her gut and broken on the ground. Allison screams, tearing at her own hair and clothes, scratching at her face. She doesn’t know how to handle this because it was her body that did this, her body and she hadn’t directed it to do the killing, but it had still been her hand that dealt the death blow.

She’d killed the soft, delicate humans, the ones she’d sworn so hard to protect. She’d killed them and the monsters had been the ones to stop her.

****+1  
** **

In the immediate aftermath they revel in the victory, laughing and crying and hugging each other indiscriminately. They’re high off of their own accomplishment, joy bursting out of them from the seams, but that only lasts so long. The quick wave of relief and joy only lasts a day or two before they have to look back and admit everything that has gone wrong, have to try and mend what might have been shattered beyond any hope of a fix. But they reach out to each other and they try and somehow, impossibly, it’s enough.

Years down the road they look back at those dark months and find that the horror of it all has faded a little, enough so that they can recognize mistakes that were made and broken bonds that have since mended that were too raw and painful in those days to acknowledge even as they’d worked to repair that fragile trust. Allison even cracks a joke about it every now and then, but the others never do. They’d failed her, left her fighting on her own for weeks and even if in the end there was as happy an ending as possible, it doesn’t change the fact that in some ways all of it was their fault. So they’re careful now, careful to make sure that Allison is never ostracized again, that no one in their pack has to feel the sting of loneliness and the pain of suspicion. It’s enough, barely, but it’s enough that they can keep living.

And then a few more years pass and a casual reference to those weeks no longer inspire an involuntary flinch or a quick wave of guilt. Stiles and Allison even joke about it sometimes, when no one else can hear, because of all people apparently Stiles understands her best in this situation. They still don’t like to bring it up but the angry wound has now faded to an old scar, tough enough not to break open, strong enough to hold them together.

By the time all of them are old and grey they don’t need to talk about it anymore, the scar having faded to old, soft skin. They’ve all been together for so long, they’ve been through so much that the possession seems so long ago and so insignificant in comparison. It doesn’t matter anymore, their trust is unshakeable now, a bond so strong that nothing in this life could break it.

**Author's Note:**

> Because Sam has given me a lot of feels I ended up writing this. And because Allison Argent is just amazing and deserves all the love. Also oh hey look I went with the happy ending, surprising even myself.


End file.
